"It's from this morning," she warned. "I cook up a whole pot in the morning and then—"
"Fine, as long as it's hot. This morning's coffee will be fine."
His mother turned up the flame, the coffee did not take long to become hot, since she had heated it for herself only a little while before, she poured him a cup and sat down heavily opposite him.
"You're tired," Arnold said.
"Yes, I'm a little tired. I've been on my feet the whole day. It was busy today, thank God."
He sipped at his coffee in silence and then he pushed it away from him.
"You don't like it,” she declared.
"I like it fine but I’ve been stopping on the road every couple of hours, drinking coffee. I guess maybe I’ve had too much. Now what's the story on Dad?"
She took a deep breath. "What can I tell you? He's had a heart attack. You know what that means, he's got to take it easy, and he's not supposed to fret or worry, that's what the doctor says. How a man in business lying flat on his back while his wife tries to operate the store is not going to worry he doesn't say. When I go to see him, the first thing he asks me is how's things at the store, and each time I tell him we're getting along fine. So who's kidding who?"
"Well, I'm here now, and he can relax. I'll go see him tomorrow and tell him that I'm here for as long as he needs me. I moved out of my apartment and sold my furniture. I brought all my stuff."
"It will help, I'm sure. But—" "But what?"
Suddenly, the anxiety and the weariness were too much for her, although she compressed her lips to keep from sobbing, she could not prevent the tears from streaming down her cheeks.
"Aw, Ma. What's the matter?"
She wiped away the tears with her fingertips and then abruptly went to the hallway table where she had left her pocketbook, to get a handkerchief.
"What is it. Ma? What's the trouble? Is there something you're holding back from me?"
"I— I know I shouldn't say anything. I should be thankful, but— "Suddenly her vexation overcame her weakness. "Look at you," she cried out. "You'll go to your father and tell him that you'll take charge, and he'll see you with the hair and the beard and the patched clothes, where he is so neat and clean. You'll tell him he can relax now, like the doctor tells him he shouldn't worry, that's all he'll need to relax is your telling him."
"Look here, my beard and the way I dress, that's my business."
"Sure, I know, the beard you'll tell me is for religion, and the clothes, that's for freedom and independence, and the boots? My grandfather, I got a picture of him from the old country, and he was wearing boots, but it was because of the mud and the snow, and if your father tells you he doesn't want you working in the store dressed like that and with a beard, you'll come home maybe and tell me that you gave him a chance and that he didn't take it and that you're going back to Philadelphia. Or maybe he'll think of how hard I'm working and won't say anything but just lie there and worry about it."
"All right, all right,” he shouted. "I'll go to the barber tomorrow and tell him to cut my hair like a bank clerk. I’ve got regular clothes; I'll put them on. Even a white shirt. I'll go there in a tuxedo if you like."
"Oh, Arnold. It'll be like medicine to him."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
In response to his ring, Leah opened the door the width of the chain and stared at him, then she recognized him. "Akiva!" She closed the door enough to slide the chain off and then, opening it wide, she asked. "Why didn't you call me first?"
"I didn't want to wait. Besides, I was afraid you'd— you'd—"
"Refuse if I had a chance to think about it? Suppose I was having company? Did you think of that?"
"I thought I'd take my chances. I felt lucky."
She led him into the living room, but she was still not mollified. "And they might think I was the kind of woman men could come to see by just ringing the bell. Did you think of that?"
"No, I didn't," Akiva retorted crossly. "I didn't think of anything except that I wanted to see you. Look," he pleaded, "I'm clean-shaven, my hair is cut, I'm all dressed up like a regular square and I wanted you to see me."
"All right. I see you."
"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly.
"It's an improvement. Even if you couldn't spare the time to phone before coming, why didn't you call to say you were going away?"
"I— I left kind of sudden. Something came up. But I'm back now."
"For good?"
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe you heard? My father got sick—"
"Yes. I heard about it. I'm sorry." Leah did not bother to say that she had dropped into the store on the chance that he might be there.
"I'll tell you the truth," he said earnestly. "When I left, I wasn't planning to come back, then my mother phoned to tell me what happened."
"I see, and you changed your style, you shaved because of what I said about beards?"
He was tempted to lie, to say he had indeed done it for her. But what he had appreciated most about their short acquaintance, what he had thought of on the long ride back to Philadelphia and again the many times he had remembered her during the week that followed was the feeling that he could be completely honest and candid with her. So he said, "No, I did it for my father."
"Oh?"
"He's my father," he said. "I owe it to him, Leah. You just kind of suggested you didn't like it, but with him it would bother him that somebody like me, like I was, was operating his precious store, and it's not good for him to be bothered. I owe him that much."
She was momentarily disappointed and yet strangely reassured. "How is he?"
"I went to see him this morning right after I had my hair cut. I was dressed like this, like I am now, he was lying there just looking up at the ceiling and he seemed tired and sort of washed out. I don't remember ever seeing him that way before. But when he saw me, he perked right up and started to give me instructions— on what to do in the store, and I just listened." He saw that she did not understand. "What I mean is I didn't argue with him, I just listened and agreed. You see, it wasn't anything very important. It never was. Just his special way of billing, or putting up merchandise or typing labels." He grinned. "I felt good about it, too, like I'd done a mitzvah."
"And what would your rebbe have said about it?" she teased.
He considered the question seriously. "Well, most of the chavurah probably would tick me off for shaving— those who don't have beards use a depilatory or an electric razor, which is supposed to be all right for some reason— especially for shaving and having my hair cut on the Sabbath and for working on the Sabbath, but the rebbe himself would approve, I think, he's not like the ordinary chasidic rebbe, he's very modem. I know it's all right because I felt good about it. Sometimes, you feel good about something you do for yourself, like lying in the sun, or when you make it with a girl and it's just right, but when you do something for someone else— not just a favor, but something you've got to give up like a sacrifice— then you feel good in a special way."
She asked how long he planned to stay in town and he said, "I don't know. My mother said it would be three months before my father could go back to work. I'll probably be here at least that long. I gave up my apartment in Philly."
"Was your job there so much better than you can do around here?"
"No. I settled in Philly because I'd gone to school there, so I knew the city, and then again. I wanted to be far enough away from home to feel free."
"And now?"
He grinned. "Well, how free was I if my mother could bring me back here with a phone call?"
Leah pressed him. "So you might stay?"
He shrugged. "I might have to— and I might want to."